The Child of Zeus
by i-Don't-Count
Summary: Mysterious sets of books arrive in the hands of Sherlock Holmes that allude to the murders that have been wreaking havoc on London. Sherlock's feelings for his pathologist begin to grow as she helps him with the case.
1. Maybe

_This is my first fanfiction I've written. So feedback would be lovely. I started posting it on Wattpad under the same title, but people kept telling me to post on here as well. So here I am. I really do hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading! -E_

* * *

A crash, an apology, and the unmistakable sound of what could only be glass shattering on the lab floor stopped the consulting detective's thoughts rather abruptly. His strikingly blue eyes shifted from the microscope to the young pathologist standing across the table from him. Blushing, she continued to apologize for knocking over the petri dish who's dismembered body now lay across the floor and for disrupting the brilliant mind of Sherlock Holmes. "Molly, what did I tell you about the apologies?"

"Keep it to one." She immediately answered.

"Precisely."

"I'll clean all this up."

"I'm sure you will. But please, first coffee. Bla-"

"Black, two sugars. I'll go get that for you now Sherlock."

"How did you-"

But she had already fled, rushing to achieve the approval of the man who's coffee orders she'd memorized. Little did either know, the pathologist, Molly Hooper would be returning with a lot more than a cup of steaming coffee.

"What took you so long?"

"Sorry, I - well there, um, there was a package addressed to you."

He didn't respond, he didn't even look up from the microscope lens his hawk-like eyes were peering down into. He simply reached out his one arm expectantly. But Molly hadn't noticed, instead she was admiring the way the his strikingly blue irises glowed under the fluorescent lights of the laboratory. His black, luscious curls that fell over his face like water cascading down a cliff. She stopped her thoughts; maybe that was too poetic for a man, who although she sees often, knows very little about. Then her mind went off on a completely different path, why does she know so little about the only consulting detective in the world. She should invite him to have coffee together. Well, by together, they've had coffee together more times then she can recall. But to _have coffee_, to talk, and since she was feeling rather adventurous, _a date. _

"Molly?"

"Oh sorry, I, uh, I must've zoned out, I was thin-"

"Molly?"

"Yes, oh yes of course."

And with that she handed him the package. Carefully he began to examine it. She could almost see the gears working harmoniously inside his head.

"Sent by a woman. She used a black ballpoint pen - a black ballpoint pen running out of ink. An expensive envelope, so either she isn't low on funds or she wanted to make an impression. Probably the former over the latter because if she was trying to make an impression she would've used a different pen, a fountain pen for example. The item itself, it feels like a book - ah yes - it is. The Lord of the Lightning? Never heard of it. Although sounds dull. Why this book? Why now? What is she trying to tell me?"

"Maybe she just wanted you to read the book?"

"Molly, don't make jokes they really don't suit you."

She had almost forgotten why she had wanted to go on a date with him earlier - _almost_

"Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

"Would you like to, um, would you like to go, go on a, a date… with me?"

"A date?"

"Yes, Sherlock." Suddenly gaining confidence, "A date. Where two people who are interested in each other go do something other than sit in this lab and talk and get to know each other."

"Molly, listen."

"No, no." She could already feel herself blushing, quickly losing the burst of confidence she was drunk off less than a minute ago. "It was stupid to ask, so, so stupid. Why would a man as absolutely brilliant as you want to possibly have a woman who can't even look you in the eye. No, no I know the answer. Just forget it."

Sherlock watched as she ran out of the room. Face flushed red with embarrassment, tears beginning to well up in her usually sparkling auburn eyes. He continued what he was about to say to anyone willing to listen, which at that time happened to be no one, "Molly, listen, now is not the best time. This package, I can't make heads or tails of it. I need a clear mind. But after, _maybe._"

The _maybe _hung from his lips for a while before being released into the air. The _maybe _that could begin to explain Sherlock's stolen glances at his young pathologist as she works. She doesn't think she's clever. But it doesn't matter what she thinks. What matters is that the great Sherlock Holmes thinks _maybe_ she is.


	2. The Body

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade was sitting in his office when the he received the notice. A girl. Found dead. In the middle of a bath. He immediately rose from his chair collected his coat and followed Sergeant Sally Donnovan down to the police car waiting for them on the street. Before he knew what he was doing and much before Donnovan could protest the idea of "Freak" coming down to take a quick look he had entered a number into his phone and typed out a message.

"Dead body. Halsmere Road. You've got 5 minutes. GL"

His finger lingered over the send button for a second. He glanced over at Donnovan sitting across from him in the car furiously texting someone. Her dark skin illuminated by the glow of her mobile, her curly hair dropping over her face in perfect ringlets. He thought about why on earth she despised "Freak" so much. Jealousy was the first thing that came to mind, she usually can't make the simplest deductions from the scene of a crime; whereas he could determine a killer's identity and location with a glance at a body. Lestrade thought of it as fascinating, not infuriating like everyone else in the force. They needed a mind like his. WIthout him only God knows how many people would walk away from a crime scotch-free. And with that, he pressed send. He put his phone down and looked back at Donnovan, she'd be pissed at him again for inviting "Freak". Lestrade was honestly alarmed at how little this phased him. He used to apologize continuously when she'd raise her voice at him, but it was worse when she lowered her voice to a near-whisper. But he was younger then. He doesn't need to be afraid of her or what she thinks of him. That's why when his phone sang out his message alert noise and he looked down at the text message the faintest ghost of a smile appeared on his lips.

"Be there right away. SH"

* * *

"Come on John, duty calls."

"Ah come on, I've only just sat down. Don't you ever take a break?"

"My mind doesn't take breaks."

"Well mine needs one."

But Sherlock Holmes paid no attention to John's remark. He was already tying his blue scarf around his neck and putting on his signature woollen coat, popping up the collar. He begun to walk to the door but stopped abruptly and looked back at John expectantly. Watson sighed, there would be no getting out of this. Even if his head ached and his body needed - begged - for sleep. He had to accompany the great Holmes, he stood up, grabbed his own coat and walked swiftly out into the streets trailing just behind Sherlock as he hailed the cab.

"What exactly is the duty that calls, Sherlock?"

"They've discovered a body in one of the flats on Halsmere Road. Lestrade called me in either because him or his squad full of idiots can't observe what has happened there or because he wants a second opinion. History dictates that the first is generally the right answer."

"The body? What about the body."

"I have absolutely no idea."

Yet.

The flat is remarkably clean. Immaculately clean in fact, to the point of being unnaturally so. It's small, the kitchen lays to his right, the door to the bathroom at the far end and the bedroom's adjacent to that. All the windows are shut and bolted. The artwork that hung on the walls were modern and matched the colour palette of the room absolutely perfectly. He continued to the bedroom, she was reading a Harlequin romance and had the book placed face up and open to the page. Either she put it down in a rush, not enough time to find a bookmark or had been intending on returning to it in the extremely near future. The bed was made obviously, judging by the state of the rest of the apartment. A drawer. Half open. Sherlock opened it and peered inside. The contents jumbled around in complete disarray. Peculiar. He joined his friend at the side of the tub where the woman's body was sitting with a radio bobbing in the water far beyond repair.

"Well Watson, what do you think?"

"Electrocution."

"But?" Watson looked at him, then at the room.

"Lestrade wouldn't have called you in if it was accidental cause of death."

"Very good John. Also, if the radio had in fact fallen into the water she would have been held in the tub until the bathwater became the conductor. There would be evidence on this body that she tried to breathe while under the water. Capillaries would have ruptured, look at her eyes John what do you see?"

"Nothing, they're perfectly clear."

"Precisely, that is the first clue she did not die in this tub. Also, there would be large blisters on her skin as the exposure to the electricity would have been prolonged and they are not present. The most pronounced lividity occurs, not on her back, buttocks and thighs; but her face, her chest, her arms. Now tell me John, how did this woman die?" Watson peered back into the tub at the woman and poked and prodded for a minute before replying.

"Asphyxiation."

"From?"

"Well electrocution, the greyish discolouration on her wrist indicates where the electricity entered her body, and the one on her feet indicates where the current exited. Which means, she was standing when she died. And then slumped over dead on her face until someone moved her into this tub and made it look like an accident."

"Very good, your deduction skills are becoming much better John."

"Well? What do you think Sherlock?" Lestrade asked re-entering the room.

"This isn't an accident. This is murder. Someone out there put an electrical current through this woman until she died, came here, put her in the tub with the radio, and looked for something in the top left drawer of her dresser. Cleaning the apartment from fingerprints before fleeing the scene. Since she already kept her flat so tidy some extra scrubbing wouldn't have seemed suspicious to the police."

"You said he, and what here makes you think the killer is a man?"

"Well statistically speaking, I assume it's a man."

"So who are we looking for Sherlock?"

"I haven't the faintest. He's done a remarkable job of covering his tracks."


	3. The Very Surprising Ingenuity of Molly

Sherlock Holmes sat in the lab at St. Bartholomew's Hospital hard at work. He heard the door open and he knew that Molly Hooper had slipped inside. The usual sweet vanilla scent of her perfume, Shalimar by Guerlain, that he has refused to admit to himself he loves, filled the room. There was another scent however, she had brought him coffee.

"I didn't ask for coffee."

"Yes, but you've been up here all day I thought I'd bring you some coffee before I head out."

"Out? Where are you going?"

"I have a date tonight, Sherlock." She said placing the cup of coffee in front of him.

"A date? With whom?"

"John." And suddenly Sherlock was paying full attention.

"John, my John? John Watson, John?"

"Yes, he asked me on a date this morning while you two came round to have a look at the body."

"You're not his type."

"Ex-excuse me?"

She thought to herself how Sherlock could be so unimaginably awful sometimes. Never considered her feelings, but it was so easy to forget all of that. Just gaze into his eyes and let go of all the anger she'll build up against him. This, was not one of those times. But Sherlock was no longer listening to her. He returned to his microscope and shut out the room. Molly stood there fuming for a minute before turning around to leave, slamming the door shut behind her. After she had left, Sherlock looked up. He couldn't quite understand why he was so infuriated by the idea that John had asked out Molly. She's the pathologist. He barely knows anything about her. And she wasn't John's type, but in a good way, Sherlock didn't want her to be his type. The insufferable small talk made by all his girlfriends, the complete idiocy of their questions. At least, even though Molly could barely look at him in the eye and was constantly nervous and clumsy, she wasn't an idiot. She was a wonderful help to his job, _she_ was wonderful.

Molly Hooper walked into work the next day to an asleep Sherlock Holmes in front of the microscope. All the anger and resentment against him she'd been bearing like weights being dragged by her feet suddenly dissipated. He looked so peaceful with his head on his arms and his eyes closed. Angelic, even. She immediately turned around and made him a cup of coffee and returned to wake him up. How late had he been working till? Knowing him, she decided it must have till the wee hours of the night. She could never imagine him sleeping before, he's a steam engine on an endless track when he's awake. It seems so strange to see him shut up for a more than a minute. Instead of condescension and facts, silence came from the detective. She wondered what he dreamt about, probably cases.

But that was not what Sherlock Holmes was dreaming about in the laboratory. He was dreaming, rather he was having a nightmare of sorts, of the woman sitting watching him sleep and his flatmate. They walked into a cafe he was in to investigate suspected drug trafficking. His eyes immediately darted to their entwined hands. The urgent need to pull them apart flooded his mind but he quickly dismissed it. John pulled the chair out for her and she smiled at him, looking deeply into his eyes, her own sparkling with something Sherlock had only seen when she talks to him. Smiling at her from across the table and John takes her hand again. She orders and John laughs claiming that, "he was thinking of the exact same thing! How peculiar!" She giggled, looking at him amazed at the coincidence. It's no coincidence, Sherlock thinks to himself, John does that to make it seem like it. It's one of his only moves, and a very poor one at that. He wants to scream it across the room, but he can't, he has this case. He notices how relaxed she acts with him, not jumpy, never stutters, never falters, she's sure-footed. Unlike when she's alone with Sherlock in the laboratory and she seems to trip over thin air, forgets what she's about to say to him constantly, and blushes frequently. Jealousy racks his brain while he watches how she acts around John. What makes him so different? After they finish eating John leans across the tiny cafe table, he runs a hand through her hair resting it on the nape of her neck and pulls her in for a kiss. A faint smile lingered on her ruby lips before giving in. Sherlock, sitting across the cafe watching, filling with rage.

"NO!" Sherlock screamed.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, it's alright, you've just fallen asleep."

"Where am I?"

"St. Barts, Sherlock, you fell asleep in the lab." Noticing the cup of coffee he took a very slow, solemn drink from it. Shadows under his eyes, his hair a mess, he seemed a bit disgruntled.

"And what day is it?"

"November the 19th, listen, you should really go home and get some sleep, Sherlock."

"What? Oh, why? I've just slept, besides there are things to do." Molly had noticed the Lord of the Lightning book that had arrived at the hospital two days ago.

"It's peculiar isn't it?"

"What is?"

"You get sent a book about lightning and a week later you are examining a body of a woman who was electrocuted."

"What," Sherlock said coming back to reality rather violently, "Did you just say?"

"That you got a book about lightning and then a body turns up who's cause of death was electrocution."

"That's it. That's why! But how? How does this relate?" He said picking up the book and flipping frantically through the pages. "My God, Molly Hooper you are a _genius!_"

He grabbed her face in both his hands and kissed her on the cheek. She immediately felt her face flushing red, but when she looked back he was already reading the book. His blue eyes darting from one side of the page to the other. She had work to do, she couldn't stand here like a statue marvelling at the fact that she had just been kissed by Sherlock Holmes. She started for the door when she heard his voice behind her, "You know, when I said you aren't his type, I meant it as a compliment. His type is so dull."

Molly didn't respond she just continued to leave. She didn't want to him to see that ridiculous smile that spread across her face or exactly what shade of red she had become. She leant against the door and her hand reached up and brushed against the skin his lips had touched. He complimented her too, twice in one day. She was so filled with euphoria, she felt like she could jump off the top of the building and fly anywhere she wanted. But then she remembered the body downstairs, she had to call in family members and friends to identify her. Give a name to the face.

Sherlock smiled to himself between pages. Molly Hooper was just as clever as he had suspected. And that fact made him almost as happy as serial killers made him. It's almost too bad that this wasn't one.

Little did he know exactly how happy he'd become in the next couple months as the novel The Lightning Thief would appear at 221B Baker Street addressed to a Mr. Sherlock Holmes.


	4. Let the Show Begin

It was exactly the same as the last one. The same pricey envelope that caged a similar object. The same pen was used, still on its last dying dregs of ink. The handwriting scrawled out the name and the address to which it was to be sent. And sent it was. The package sat on the doorstep of 221B Baker Street. The landlady of the aforementioned flat picked it up and brought it inside out of the drizzle that had begun to fall outside. Waiting for the occupants of 221B she turned on the kettle and sat down to get the weight off her hip. It just seemed to only get worse these days. The sound of a key in the door and the professional chatter could be heard from down the hall. They were home. She lifted herself off the chair, pain searing through her hip for a moment before getting properly balanced. She went to greet the boys.

"Sherlock! John!" She cried as she came down the hall.

"Mrs. Hudson, how's the hip?" Sherlock asked embracing the woman.

"The same, so awful. A package came for you today. I left it in your flat. The kettle's just boiled, would you like me to bring you boys up a cup?"

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson that'd be perfect." John replied following Sherlock up the stairs.

Sherlock stared at the package and in that moment he realized he was dealing with more than a clue of a murder. He was dealing with a serial killer. A cold-blooded predator who's weapon of choice was an electrical current.

"Expect another dead body in the near future. SH"

Greg Lestrade stared at his phone a minute trying to figure out exactly what he meant. My God if Sally had been here she would've most certainly accused Sherlock for the body. He did sound like a bit of a psychopath in this text. But this was Sherlock, the great Sherlock Holmes, he must've found a clue.

"What do you mean? GL"

"I've received another book, expect another body. SH"

Goddammit. There was no way they could prevent this either. No one had any idea who this mysterious killer and book fanatic was. There was nothing tying the murder to anyone. It's been almost eight months since the last body was found, followed by Sherlock coming running to us the day after saying this book had something to do with the murder, there was some connection he just had no idea what it was. And if Holmes couldn't figure it out, there was a very little chance that anyone in Scotland Yard could possibly decrypt the message. _The warning_. Lestrade looked at the calendar on the corner of his desk that sat beside a wedding picture of him and his wife. They looked so happy then. Her green eyes radiating sheer happiness, her smile - wide telling the whole world she'd just married the man of her dreams. When was the last time he saw that look? Maybe Sherlock was right. Maybe she was sleeping with that P.E. teacher.

Molly's breathing stopped and then quickened rapidly. She was standing in the middle of the street reading and re-reading a text from the person she'd always dreamt would send her a message like this.

"I need you. Come to St. Bart's as quickly as possible. I've made you coffee. SH"

Molly stood paralyzed for a bit until a person, obviously in a hurry to get on their way bumped into her. Then she walked off, well, she jogged off. She was only a few streets away from the hospital and to say she was eager to find out why Sherlock needed her would be the understatement of the year.

Sherlock was slightly alarmed when Molly came crashing in through the doors.

"You've been running. Your breathing is slightly elevated."

"Yes, yes. Well, uh, you said - you said to come as quickly as possible."

"Ah yes, there was no rush." He said handing her a cup of coffee and watched her like a hawk as she took a sip. She was surprised at how completely disgusting it tasted.

"Sherlock, this coffee…"

"Yes?"

"It's awful."

"Oh." A look of disappointment came across his face. He wanted to so badly to impress her.

"Well, it's not the worst cup I've ever had." She piped up, hoping to make up for what she had just said. At least a little bit.

"Thank you Molly. Now, have you read this book?"

"You got another?" He gave her a look that immediately told her she shouldn't have asked such a stupid question. "No, no I haven't read it."

"Well I just had, it's remarkably dull don't bother. Since you were able to connect that the last book was related to the murder in November." He said walking slowly towards her. "I thought you, Molly, would be the best woman for the job."

_I can't feel my hands. He's so close to me. I can't breathe. I can't breathe._

"Molly?"

"Yes?" She stepped forward to grab the book out his hands and tripped over one of the lab stools into him. He dropped the book and caught her in his strong arms. She grabbed on to the lapels of his coat and slowly looked up. _I can't believe I just fell into Sherlock Holmes. God, why am I so embarrassing? _But the thought disappeared when she saw his face. He was smiling at her, a sweet smile she's never seen before. One that actually reached his eyes, _his eyes, oh God his eyes_. Looking so deep into hers she was sure he could read her mind. They stood there for a minute in each others arms, his hands gently resting on the small of her back. _I've forgotten how to breathe._

"Are you alright Molly?"

_I am now. _"Yes. Yes."

"Good, now should we get back to work?"

_No, we should stay here forever. _"Ye-yes, I think we should. Sorry, sorry." A new grin had creeped its way onto Sherlock's lips.

"Oh no, it was my pleasure." He purred as he let go of her and bent down to retrieve the book.

They sat together trying to figure out the warning, when the clock in the back of the lab's minute hand passed over the XII. Outside in the distance the London clock tower chimed once. _It's midnight. _Four times. _It's June 28th. _Twelve times. _Let the show begin._


	5. Silence

_Twelve chimes. That was it. The door still locked. Silence. Complete and utter silence. Only broken by the whimpers of the man on the floor. If he had solved it, he would be running in here by now. But there was nothing and no one. There were no police sirens. No interferences. Perfect. Perhaps the brilliant mind of Sherlock Holmes was too daft to figure out the book._

_"Please. Please don't kill me."_

_A laugh broke out in the dark room. Loud and cruel. The man looked around, there was no escape. The door was bolted. There were no windows. In fact, there was no light. Not even the tiniest glimmer of moonlight crept its way into this dark dungeon. This hell, where he would burn. Where he would end. He never even said goodbye to her._

_Something was being attached to his wrist and with a strong, forceful pull he was standing on his feet. Don't you see your life flash before your eyes when you're about to die? He wished he could at least see that instead of this impeding darkness that enclosed him in its arms like a monster. A click was heard from across the room and a loud buzzing noise raised from quiet to ominously loud. Lord have mercy on me! He silently begged. And he felt it. The electricity had begun coursing through his body. At first, the pain was slight. Until the current increased. He fell to the floor. His convulsing, writhing body soon went still. The buzzing ended. Silence had won. A smile crept over the woman's lips._


	6. Every Ending Has a New Beginning

June 28th.

They found him. Dead. Alone. Locked in.

The cause of death?

Asphyxiation due to electrocution.

The time of death?

Around midnight last night.

And what of the man himself?

A city man. Works in an office. His girlfriend's already been down to confirm that it's him.

And who is that?

Phil. Phil Dodson. An American. Working for the London branch of a big company.

But that's old news.

Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper had fallen asleep in the lab at St. Bartholomew's Hospital together after spending hours with countless futile attempts at solving the mystery. _The mystery of the book._

_She yawned and he looked over at her. Molly's eyes were red and dry. She could barely keep them open. It was a struggle, like weights pulling down her lids at every possible moment. She was so tired. "Get some sleep." He had told her. And she had responded that she didn't want to leave him here alone. She wanted to help him solve it. And you will, he told her, but you need sleep, you can barely keep your eyes open. She refused again, looking down at the book in front of her for a moment and falling into it. Come here, he said gesturing to the floor beside him. She climbed down from the stool and sat down beside the detective. He put his arm around her and whispered, "Go to sleep now." Her heart beating, she tensed up immediately. Her usual reaction to his touch. "You're tense. Just relax. Go to sleep." He coaxed her into finally relaxing. Leaning into him she closed her eyes and fell asleep. He breathed in the warm smell of her perfume and then allowed himself to drift off into his dreams._

He was up before her. She was sleeping so peacefully until the alert that a message had been received rang out like an alarm on Sherlock's phone. "How long have you been awake?" She asked groggily.

"Not long. If you're still tired Molly, go back to sleep. Please, I don't want to be the end of you. I quite like you alive thank you very much."

"Sherlock - "

"There's been another. It already happened we're too late. I'm sorry Molly, I wish I could stay but I really must dash. Lestrade's giving me 5 minutes to see the scene. I've got to get John too."

"Oh. Okay. Well, I'd better get ready for work then, I'm to be expecting a body. Coffee before you go?"

"No, that's quite alright love, I've got to run." He was almost out before Molly had stopped him.

"Love? Did - did you just call me love?"

"Um, slip of the tongue. Sorry about that."

And he was off without another word. _Love. _She had slept in his arms and now he was calling her love. What has happened to him? This was definitely a different side of Sherlock Holmes.

_Love. _Why had he let himself say that. _I've got to be more careful. _There almost wasn't enough time to finish the thought as Sherlock Holmes had just stepped into 221B Baker Street expecting to fetch John but ended up finding a package. The size of a book in an expensive envelope with a Mr. Sherlock Holmes written in dying ink on the back. There was to be another.


	7. No Such Luck

Molly Hooper recognized the familiar consulting detective stalk past her without notice. What on Earth was he doing out at the coast? She grabbed his shoulder and smiled warmly up at him. He returned a smile, without as much of the warm. "What are you doing up here?" She asked him.

"Oh, following up on a lead. No such luck."

"Well, since we're up here. And the train, you know the train, it doesn't - so well, do you want to walk with me? Oh you know what, no, no never mind. Stupid question. Forget it." He looked in her eyes planning to decline. But it was her cheeks quickly turning a deeper shade of red then he'd ever seen mixed with the little flicker of hope gleam in her eyes and then suddenly drain out of them. He needed to get back, he had work to do, but instead of saying it'd probably be best if he got on his way he found himself saying, "Lets go then."

"So what are you doing out here?" Sherlock asked in attempt to make small talk, simply to be nice as small talk bore him. The constant chatter of how Mrs. Young-You-Know-The-Lady-Down-The-Street's cat has run away and miraculously found its way back and how we couldn't be more overjoyed at his arrival. Or the usual gossip and mindless idle chit-chat of who's flirting with who. Not to mention how that young lady is having an affair with the butler and the responding chorus of '_How scandalous!"_

"Date. It obviously didn't work out too well…" Molly muttered back.

"His loss." Sherlock said stalking off towards the beach before she even had the chance to question it. He jumped down from the concrete to the sand and looked back up at her. She was looking down with apprehension and concern. Her brow slightly furrowed, it was awfully high and Sherlock was quite a bit taller than her. Sherlock watched and mistook the feeling of sympathy for the pathologist fear of heights with impatience. As he still didn't understand the feelings he had for her. But he reached up and grabbed her by her tiny waist and lifted her down to the sand.

_Did that actually just happen to me?_ She said to herself and glanced over at him. Noticing how hot her cheeks were she was glad he wasn't looking at her. Instead he was busying himself untying his shoes and removing his suit jacket. He had left behind the signature woollen coat and scarf, odd, she thought, he never seems to leave his flat without it. It was when he started walking without her with no warning did she snap back to reality. Of course. How could she have been so stupid? What had she been thinking would happen when walking with the great Sherlock Holmes? Shaking her head trying to forget her hopes she ran to catch up to him and then walked swiftly to keep up with his fast pace. His hand hesitated for a very long while before finally clasping onto hers. Molly looked up at him in shock but his face was stone. Unreadable, completely unchanged. When was it ever different? "So Molly, tell me, how has work been?"

"Dead... No, sorry. Bad joke."

"Really? I thought it quite witty."

"Really?"

"Yes. But it tells me nothing about work."

And with that she began to ramble on about the usual happening and the cases as of late at the mortuary in Bart's. Sherlock was watching her intently with his usual cold, blue eyes filled with a glimmer of something new. He loved it when she rambled on about work like this. She was just so good at her job, not to mention she was one of the brightest people he knew. Although she wouldn't have even dared to think so.

"Sherlock? Are you even listening to me?"

"What? Oh sorry no, I've wandered off." But Molly didn't reply with words instead she walked over to the water and kicked. A great splash of cold salt water drenched Sherlock. He stared at her in complete and utter shock. The audacity of the woman! But then he just laughed and ran after her. Chasing her for a short while before capturing her in his arms and carrying her over his shoulder out into deeper water.

"Sherlock! Put me down! Now! Sherlock! I swear to God! If you drop me in here I'll hurt you!"

But he ignored her pleas and her slaps on his back. When he reached water over his knees he lifted her up and dropped her.

Catching Molly Hooper just before she would've plunged into the icy ocean water. "Gotcha." He purred. She flushed bright red. "Ye-um-yes, yes, yes you do." Wrapping her hands around his neck she lay in his strong arms back to shore before he found himself tripping on an unseen stone. Both the consulting detective and the pathologist fell into the ocean one on top of the other. Molly retracted only to find his arms still firmly placed on her back. "Sorry, sorry, Oh my God, sorry. Ple-please forgive me. Sorry."

"Molly, please. Stop apologizing for something that is first of all not your fault, and secondly something I personally am not sorry for at all."

As usual when she was embarrassed she averted her eyes but she felt his gaze on her so she turned her head back towards him. She found herself staring into eyes that were looking intently back into hers. They lay there for a moment, not speaking. He was the one to break the stare only to look at her lips, leaning in slowly. But Molly panicked and jumped up, immediately regretting it. Sherlock sat confused for a moment, the waves still breaking against him, before shrugging it off and joining Molly as she continued to walk down the shore.

They walked in near silence before they came to stairs leading back up to the road. "Well, it's been most fun Molly. Perhaps we'll do it again sometime?" He said and tuning around to leave. She stood mourning his going away the instant he left, watching him walk away. Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks and spun around dramatically and stalked back to her. "Of course, that was rude. I apologize. But I shouldn't just leave, we're going to the same place. Catch the train with me? Besides, I could use your help. The last package sent was most confusing."

"Oh, oh, um, yes, of course I'll help." She stammered out ending in a smile.

And the pair walked off towards the train, time slowly ticking away towards midnight. The minutes passing them by like strangers on the street, never stopping to talk, let alone warn them of what is to come.


	8. Codes are Cracked

_I honestly can't believe the things you all are saying about my fanfic, so thank-you thank-you. I never really thought I would ever be good at this, let alone have people like it. Thank you for the feedback as well. This chapter is a lot less fluffy than the last. But the storyline must commence, I hope you enjoy! -E_

* * *

The first few minutes of the train passed in silence. Before Molly piped up, "So what lead exactly were you following?"

"You. I needed your help, and your friend Wendy at the mortuary told me you were out on a date on the coast for the day. I then found John in the flat which alarmed me, as I thought you two were still dating. Who then said that you two broke up two weeks after you started dating in November and as it's now June he hadn't the faintest idea why I hadn't noticed. And so I followed you up to the coast on your date, who didn't show up, leaving you abandoned. It couldn't have been more perfect." He said pulling out an opened package from his jacket. "The killer broke the chain. The book doesn't have lightning in the title."

Molly looked down at a brand new copy of Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone. And tuned out the constant words falling out of Sherlock's mouth at the speed of light. _How could he have been so stupid? Did he honestly not notice it? _She looked back over at him, his theories were so outlandish and absurd she had to restrain herself from laughing at him. "It's obvious isn't it?"

"What? What is obvious?" And his gaze followed her finger placing down on the boy's forehead.

"Harry Potter, the boy in J.K. Rowling's story has a _lightning-shaped _scar on his forehead."

"No, that can't be it. Too simple. This killer, this killer is clever and full of himself, sending books to the police before he strikes. Something as perfectly simple as that cannot possibly be right. He wants to taunt me, make me think."

"No, you're just stubborn because you didn't figure it out." But Molly never heard his retort to that statement. She had flipped to the first page and was staring at tomorrow's date. "Sherlock, do you have the other two books here?"

"I only have the last one, why?"

"May I see it?" He handed it to her and immediately she flipped to the first page. Yesterday's date was now sitting in front of her.

"The murder will take place tomorrow at midnight."

"What? How on Earth did you find that out?"

"The publication date. The second books publication date is June the 28th, the murder occurred then. The next book's publication date is June the 30th. I'm just assuming he made the murder coincide with publication date. Because one, especially you, would immediately over think it. To look in the words and the chapter trying to figure out a cipher of some sort. And besides, no one reads that part of the book, most people skip over to the first chapter."

"Molly, that, that is remarkable, a superlative deduction."

She smiled to herself watching him check the dates on his own in complete awe of the fact that even the wonderful mind of Sherlock Holmes couldn't deduce it and the woman sitting next to him could. Remarkable indeed.

* * *

The train lurched to a stop at King's Cross Station. "I had John check the publication date on the first book, the 17th of November was the date of the first murder. You're right Molly, you were completely right. But the question is _where_ now. Where will the next one happen. Places in the book, must have something to do with it. Unless it's completely random, which is unlikely otherwise he wouldn't have taken the time to send the books at all. But a magical castle? How can the murder take place at a magical castle?"

"Here. It could happen here."

"How?"

"Harry Potter boards the Hogwarts Express on Platform 9 3/4 here at King's Cross Station. Have you really no idea what happens in this book? It's so famous, there are movies!"

"No I really can't say I've indulged in this children's book Molly."

* * *

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade read the text message he had just received thrice over before making a move

"Come to King's Cross Station at once, the next one's here at midnight. SH"

_How does he do it? _But there was no time to marvel at the fact the consulting detective figured the meaning of these bloody books in time to possibly save a life.

* * *

"Here? Sherlock, you realize people are coming in and out here all the time? And this is one place in the entire book, how can you be sure that it's here?"

"Then put your best men in all the non-fictional places mentioned in this book. John and I shall wait here."

"What about her? He asked nodding his head in the direction of Molly Hooper.

"She shall be going home. It's much too dangerous for her to stay."

"What if I want to stay?"

"Well there is no discussion. I don't want you to get hurt, or worse, killed tonight. I quite like you alive thank you very much. So please,_ please_, Molly go home where you'll be safe."

Molly Hooper lay awake that night worried sick. Every time she drifted into sleep she was jolted awake by the image of Sherlock and John's stakeout going terribly wrong. So she got dressed and walked out of her flat. Intending to stakeout the stakeout.


	9. The Disadvantage of Worry

Molly Hooper stared up at the train station. What exactly had she been thinking? What was the plan? That's an excellent question, because as a matter of fact, she had none. Paralyzed for a minute she ran over every possible worst-case scenario in her mind before quietly entering the building. Her eyes carefully scanned the station, she couldn't see where they were. Suddenly she panicked, what if they could see her? Shame overwhelmed her, Sherlock would be so angry and disappointed in her. This was a terrible, terrible idea. She turned to go when she felt a strong hand on her shoulder. She let out a small scream before turning around to find herself face-to-face with the angry and disappointed Sherlock she had been intending to avoid.

"What are you doing here!? I told you to stay at home, this could be dangerous! Don't you understand that Molly!?" He hissed, shaking her slightly.

"I-I-I'm sorry, I was- I was worried about you. I had to come, I just had to. There was nothing else to it. I couldn't stay at home while you were here."

"What!? And I'm not allowed to be worried about you!? For God's sake, Molly, I meant it when I said I wanted you home. You're safe there. You're not safe here-"

"Well neither are you!"

"Molly listen to me! Listen, listen to me." He lowered his voice to be much softer and warmer, "I'm trying to protect you. I-I just don't want you hurt. Please, _please _turn around and go home now. I'm begging you, Molly, please. Before anything happens to you." She couldn't bear to look at him in the eyes. She could tell how much she had upset him.

"I'm sorry."

"No, don't, Molly look at me." He met her eyes and held the gaze, "Don't be sorry. Go home now while you have the chance. Go on."

"Alright, I'm going. I-I'm sorry, I am." He looked at her and saw how embarrassed and upset she was that he had been cross with her. So he gathered his young pathologist in his arms and hugged her tight to him. He brushed his hand through her hair before letting her go. He looked at her once over and nodded. "Go on now, go, _I'll be fine!" _

And that's when the lights went out.

Frantically reaching for Molly in the impending darkness and pulling her over into the nearest door marked "Employees Only." There they stood in a small janitor's closet pressed against each other when Molly whispered, "What's happening Sherlock?"

"_He's here."_


	10. Darkness

_Sorry for the cliffhanger, I just couldn't help myself... -E_

* * *

Her head was pressed against his chest and she could hear his heartbeat. It was quick, he must be worried about what's to come. But worried was an understatement to Molly. She was terrified. Sherlock could hear her sharp intakes of breath and her heartbeat was quite a bit faster than his own. She was shaking too, he could feel her trembling with fear against him. He didn't want her to be this scared but he didn't know what to do. Sherlock couldn't really say he had ever comforted a woman while trapped with her in a janitor's closet in a life-or-death situation. So he did his best. He wrapped his arms around her waist and brought her in closer. "It's okay, it's going to be okay." He whispered to her while gently running his hand through her hair. "Stay here, and don't make a sound. I'll be back for you Molly Hooper." And even though it was cramped in the closet and even though it took quite a bit of contortion, he leaned down and gently brushed his lips against her cheek that went hot with his touch. For a moment he considers kissing her on her lips. Because she can't back away this time, there's nowhere to go. But he shakes the idea from his mind immediately. There is a time and place. He then opened the door a crack and sidled out of it.

Alone. The funny thing about the dark is how utterly alone it makes you feel. Even if someone was standing right there you would never know. It's just you. Molly honestly couldn't tell the difference if she had closed her eyes or not. She lifted her hand in front of her, but she could't make out the shape of it. The darkness that enclosed her was the kind that if you stare at it long enough it feels like it's just getting blacker, pulling you in, getting denser like a black hole. Although a star collapsing in on itself becoming so dense it pulls in everything around it seemed almost favourable now. She would be sucked out of this closet. Sucked out of danger.

* * *

Sherlock looked back at the closet. _God I hope she'll be okay in there. If he lays a finger on her I swear to God I'll kill him. _He looked around. His eyes becoming rapidly used to the black surroundings yet he could still barely see what was right in front of him. Just the faint silhouettes and outlines of objects could really be anything, and that was frightening part. He reached his hands behind him and pulled out his hand gun, holding it straight in front of him. Slowly and carefully he headed back towards the direction he knew he'd find John waiting.

* * *

John looked down at his watch, he could barely make out the time. _Where was Sherlock? And where is Molly? _The plan was going horribly wrong in the matter of minutes. Someone else is in here too. Someone with murder and his agenda. But who? That's the question. Cooped up in a tiny corner he reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile, sending a short but to-the-point text message to Lestrade.

* * *

The detective felt the faint vibration in his pocket. He was on a stakeout for a potential killer. He looked round to the other officers who were still watching the scene carefully. Then pulled out his phone and read the text. "He's here. JW"

"To King's Cross Station! Half you stay here, half of you come with me. Any suspicious behaviour and you contact me immediately! Do you hear me!" He cried out to his officers before running into the police cruiser with two other men and driving off. _Dear God, what if I'm too late? What if this is the person who finally bested the great Sherlock Holmes? _

"Boss look out!" Lestrade slammed on the brakes and came to jerking stop just in time at the red light. So even though a million thoughts were crossing his mind all at once, getting jumbled and confused he blacked them all out for a minute.

* * *

Molly Hooper was shaking again. She couldn't hear anything and that was almost worse than hearing something at all. The silence scared her. What on Earth was going on? And is Sherlock alright? He must be, he's Sherlock. No one is as bright as he. But still, she worried. She pulled out her phone and sent a text, "Is everything alright? Molly." The next three sounds had her wishing she was hearing nothing again. For the first sound was Sherlock's text alert noise. The second was a gunshot. _And the third was a scream._

* * *

_Okay maybe I'm not **that** sorry for the cliffhanger. [Insert evil laughing] -E_


	11. The Truth

John heard the scream, Sherlock heard the scream, Lestrade heard the scream as he ran in, and Molly heard the scream as it had managed to find its way to escape out of her own lips. The pain was excruciating, more intense than anything she had ever felt before. She raised her hand up to the side of her arm where the pain was screaming from. Blood. She felt her hand immediately become soaked in her own blood. She did her best to asses the damage done in the pitch darkness of the closet. And after struggling to rip off her stained coat she found that the bullet had only grazed her. But there was still a dangerous amount of blood spilling out of the wound. She actually had stopped to think that she was glad she works with dead people, if not she might've not had the stomach to deal with this. She took off her shirt, biting her lip to prevent her from screaming out again as the fabric passed her severed arm. Of course she wasn't planning on sitting in here and bleeding to death, so she tied her shirt around her arm as tight as she could. Clasping one side of the knot in her teeth and the other in her opposite hand. Then she shimmied down to the floor of the closet where she had previously abandoned her jacket and slowly put it back on.

Sherlock stared back at the closet in shock. Was she even still alive? He contemplated shouting for her but it was too risky, whoever was here with them would know where she was again. "Who's here?" He called out into the darkened abyss. "Who's here? Why are you doing this? If you come out now, no one else has to get hurt."

"Well I should hope not, a decent well-mannered boy such as yourself would never find himself hitting a woman, would he?" Replied a soft, malicious voice from an origin unknown.

"Woman?"

"Yes, is that shocking? You assumed I'd be a man didn't you? Why would I leave something as brilliant as this scheme to men? They're half as cunning as women and they always botch it up anyway."

"Not all men are as daft as you think."

"Oh what you? I'm not afraid of you. And I'm positive I'm still more clever than you are, the great Sherlock Holmes…. Oh that shut you up well. Nothing to say to that? Nothing at all?"

"Why are doing this?"

"I'm sure you've been brought to light about your fan?"

"So Moriarty hired you to be a menace to society, to make all of London scared to go out?"

"Oh no no no, Mr. Holmes, he didn't hire me."

"Then what, this is your favour to him?'

"You really are as daft as I thought you were, Sherlock. This isn't a favour, and he isn't my employer. Why, Mr. Holmes, he's my father."


	12. The Apple Never Falls Far From the Tree

Everyone was taken aback as the last three words hung in the air. They lingered the same way a foul stench seems to. And everyone, except of course Sherlock, was lost for words.

"Daughter? Why of course." He called out into the darkness.

"Tell me Mr. Holmes, what can you deduce about me?"

"I can't even see you."

"Tell me Mr. Holmes, _what can you deduce about me?" _Repeating herself slowly and maliciously.

"I think you're just as bored as your father. Yes, the average person would describe you as insane. But no, I see through that, I see the boredom. You're both so sick and tired of routine, of the ordinary, of good defeating evil time and time again. And although you two have remarkable similarities both physically and mentally. Yes, I saw you, for a moment, when you passed through a break in the darkness. I hope you're not alarmed, I'm sure my _fan _has informed you that I miss nothing. You two, to say the least are similar in facial features, demeanour, and your earlobes are detached as are his. Which is a characteristic passed down only through direct bloodline. But you're different than him, you may act like him but you are not your father. I think that you grew up in a complicated family. I think you've lived your life without a mother. I think you've been neglected as a child, Daddy never having time to tuck you in to bed or take you to school. I think you're angry, yes, but evil? No, I think you're releasing all that negativity and neglect onto the world around you. I think you're trying desperately to have your father see you as his daughter. And most of all I think you're still good, somewhere deep down inside of you. Don't compare yourself to your father dear, you're so much better than him. Am I right?"

Silence. Complete and utter silence. Lestrade and John gaped in complete awe of a deduction made with only a quick glance at someone he's never met before in his life. Molly sat in the closet smiling to herself remembering the precise reason she had fallen for Sherlock Holmes in the first place. Sherlock's mind flickered for a fleeting moment back to the woman sitting and smiling in the back of the station, hoping she was fine, wishing she was doing alright. But it turned back immediately to the adversary who must've had all her words run away from her grasp. "Am I right!?" He asked again, more forcefully now.

"How dare you." She called out again, her voice caught on the words. Sherlock recognized the emotion immediately, sorrow. And although he was only acquainted with the feeling, he'd seen it tear apart people. "How dare you accuse my family."

"Was I right?"

"Mr. Holmes, I do what I do because I know it's right." She struggled to keep her voice steady and strong as tears slowly fell down her cheeks. _How did he know? _"You think you have people figured out." _How could he have known? _"But you're just as bored as my Father and I are. You're no better than us. And you know what I think, I think you are us. You just resist it. Stop resisting Mr. Holmes."

"I'm not resisting anything. I'd rather not wreak havoc on all of London."

The next time she spoke, she whispered, the voice came from behind him. The words softly trailing from her lips to his ear. _"Join us, Sherlock."_

"Never!" He cried and whipped around, he saw her running but grabbed a hold of her wrist pulling her back toward him. "Stop this! No one else has to die Marissa!"

"My name? How do you know my name?"

"Stop with the killing."

She stopped wriggling suddenly and smiled up at him. "Got to run, sorry. Past my curfew." She reached her free hand up his neck, her fingers instinctively finding a precise spot just below his neck and pressed down with as much pressure she could muster. He released her arm and flung himself backwards.

"Au revoir Mr. Holmes."

He looked back up at her, tears still staining her cheeks, as she fled the scene without a trace. No matter how tough she acts, she is will always be a perfect reflection of what she actually is, _a child._

John came running to Sherlock, "What happened? How did she get away?"

Catching his breath he replied, "She used pressure points, there is a pressure point that causes pain located on the bone of your sternal notch. Also, your gag reflex is located just behind that. If you use both in combination your opponent will fall backwards with all his own force. Brilliant, actually."

"And quick question, how _did _you know her name?" A noise filled the station signalling the power had come back on. The lights blinding the three men. Sherlock stopped suddenly in shock and ran back towards the closet.

"Molly! Molly, are you alright?" He asked as he frantically pulled open the door and fell to his knees before enveloping her in a tight hug. She winced at the sudden pain that shot through her arm, but decided against complaining.

"Yes, I'm fine."

"You're bleeding, Oh God, you were shot, John! John come over here!"

"No really I'm fine."

John appeared behind them, stopping for a moment confused at the sight of his friend gazing so deep into Molly's eyes. "What's happened?"

"She was shot John, please make sure she'll be alright!"

"Calm down Sherlock, I'm positive Molly will be fine."

John knelt beside her and pulled off her coat, she felt the colour flood her face. She was sitting in front of Lestrade, John and most of all Sherlock in her nothing but her bra because she had used her shirt to stop the bleeding. Greg noticed how embarrassed the poor girl looked, so he left, intending on relieving the boys outside from their watch. Sherlock just paced back and forth until he had noticed her sitting half naked on the station floor. He stopped suddenly in his tracks completely lost for words. She met his gaze for a second before they both turned away. Sherlock returning to his pacing and her looking down at her arm.

"You've pretty well stopped the bleeding. A few stitches and a proper bandage ought to fix you up just fine. Shall we head over to Bart's?"

* * *

A few hours later Molly was bandaged, stitched and more than ready to go back to her own flat. She was getting up from the hospital bed when Sherlock came in, swiftly and quietly. "What are you still doing here?" She asked him.

"To take you home." He replied as if it was the most obvious reason in the world.

"Oh. I, uh, I can walk, I don't live far from here."

"No, I'm walking you home. And I'm staying over the night to make sure everything is fine. There is no use arguing Molly, I've made up my mind." And he took a few more steps towards her, closing the distance between them.

"Well, tha-that's very kind of you." She said as he took a few more. Until nothing but clothing separated them. He wrapped her in his arms, this time careful of the newly-dressed wound. He rested his chin on her head and closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh. "I'm so glad you're safe, Molly Hooper." He then leaned down and kissed her on the forehead before removing his coat and putting it on her. She was speechless, so she let him put his arm around her and walk her out of the hospital.

* * *

_Expect some serious fluffiness. And thank you all for your kind words and reviews. I honestly never thought I'd get this kind of response. -E_


	13. Nonetheless a Dream Come True

_It's been a while, sorry about that. But as promised. FLUFF. (with more fluff to come) -E_

* * *

"You really don't have to stay Sherlock." Molly insisted for umpteenth time as they came up to the door of her flat. He stopped in front of her and swung around to face her.

"Yes, I do." He replied.

"I'll be fine, I will, I-I'm sure of it. Really, it's just some stitches. It's nothing." He grabbed her hand in his own, then clasped his other around their entwined fingers.

"I'm staying, Molly. Now unlock your door." Without any further protest she walked around the consulting detective blocking her way and shoved the key into the door.

"It's a little messy, had I known I was going to have, you know, have company. I… I-I would've tidied up a bit." Molly managed to stammer out while she frantically put various things into their rightful places.

"It's no big deal, you should see the inside of my flat."

"Okay." Molly replied without thinking. She made eye contact with him and he smiled and let out a small laugh. Immediately she could feel the colour flooding her cheeks. So she stopped cleaning and sat down on the couch. She watched Sherlock's eyes flicker about the room, which made her extremely uncomfortable. She knew that his brain was making hundreds of deductions about her and most them were probably quite right. "Do you, I mean only if you like, you don't have to of course, I mean it was only a suggestion, oh you know what? Never mind."

"No, what is it Molly?" And his eyes stopped flying about from place to place and focused on her as he came to sit down beside her.

"Would you like to watch a movie or something?"

"I'd be delighted." He said with a new smile. Not his usual I'm-smiling-to-be-kind-of-polite smile, a warm I'd-honestly-be-delighted-to-sit-down-and-watch-a-film-with-you-Molly-Hooper smile. They sat there for the longest 10 seconds of her life before he broke eye contact. Busying himself with making her a cup of tea. She got up, kind of dazed, and went to get her Mary Poppins DVD. "I hope you don't mind." She said holding up the case for him to see, "It's just that I watch it every time I feel sick. It makes me feel better."

"Anything to make you feel better, Molly." He replied with a quick smile, "Besides, I've always liked her. She wasn't dull like characters from most movies. I related with her." _Of course he related to Mary Poppins of all people. _She could almost see it, a young Sherlock Holmes sitting in front of a television set indulging in his favourite VHS cassette. She'd never really thought about Sherlock as a child, it seems like such a strange thought.

They sat down on her couch and started the movie. "You seem to know this movie quite well." Sherlock remarked at Molly's knowledge of every word to every song that has played so far.

"I feel sad a lot." She said to him, and he looked over at her even though she still was watching the film intently.

"Do you feel sad now?"

"No. I feel happy now." She replied looking at him for a second, then turning away as she began to blush again.

The Banks children were far into the chalk drawing when Sherlock had realized Molly's head rested on his shoulder. His arm had begun to fall asleep and he wanted more than anything to be able to move it a new position. He did not however, want her to get up. The only logical solution the detective could come up with was to move his arm around her shoulders. She didn't protest, she didn't say a word. Instead she pulled her knees up and rested them against his legs and reached her arm around his stomach. Never had Sherlock imagined that he would be sitting in Molly Hooper's flat with her, while watching a Disney movie and cuddling. And never had he even begun to fathom that he'd enjoy it quite a lot. He allowed himself a small smile and he leaned his head against hers. When the movie ended and Molly left his arms, disappointment racked his brain. He wanted her back. He wanted to stay in that moment forever. But he also wanted to ignore the feelings that were stirring inside of him. He knew that sentiment only led to bad endings. It wasn't worth it, it was risky.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"I've been asking you about pillows for a minute. Where have you gone?"

"Oh, just, uh, thinking. One pillow will suffice, thank you Molly."

Molly walked into her bedroom and grabbed the spare pillow. She picked it up and held it to herself for a minute. Ever since her first day at Bart's she has dreamed about Sherlock staying the night in her flat. And maybe it wasn't the same way the evening seemed to play out in her mind but it was still a dream come true. It was strange how suddenly soft he had become towards her. Molly knew Sherlock had thought she didn't notice. But she felt his gaze watching her while she worked, and she heard how his voice quickly softened when he spoke to her. It was strange, but welcome. She returned to him with the pillow to find him still staring out in to space with the same distant look in his eyes. He was abruptly awoken from his thoughts with a pillow colliding with his face. He stared up at her in shock. Her laughter, a genuine laughter, not the nervous giggle he usually heard, sang out from her. It was melodic and beautiful, it was something he could listen to all day. She grabbed the pillow again and hit him, again and again. Running after him around the couch, hitting him with pillow in her hands. He ran to her bedroom to take cover from his attacker and catch his breath for a moment. Molly laughed to herself as she heard the lock on her door click, she reached up to her hair and pulled a pin from her loose bun atop her head. As quietly as possible she pushed it into the small hole on the doorknob until she felt the lock give way. She turned the knob and carefully opened the door and Sherlock was bombarded with another barrage of pillow hits across his face, before he grabbed a hold of her and they both fell laughing hysterically on to her bed. When the giggles went away they were reduced to nothing but two people laying on the bed gazing at each other. Sherlock moved a piece of her hair out of her face, gently tucking it behind her ear. Never breaking eye contact for a moment. She put her hand on his. This was the most wonderful she'd felt in ages. She's never had so much fun with a man and even though he reduces her to stammers, there are times when being around him allows her to be herself so naturally. She didn't feel lonely now. Always lonely, she was. Usually only her cat, Toby, to keep her company. Who right now was hiding, he was always so scared of new people. It had always seemed impossible, her and Sherlock. And now, looking into the eyes of the man she had fallen hopelessly in love with while laying in her bed, the impossibility seemed more like a reality.

"Sherlock, I-"

"Molly, shut up." Sherlock said softly as he leaned in towards her.


	14. Nonetheless a Dream Come True Part 2

_Finally updated! I'll have the next chapter up hopefully on Monday. Crossing my fingers. -E_

* * *

"Wha-What why?" Molly stammered. Sherlock never answered, he leant in closer and closer until she could feel his breath on her. Molly's heart began beating twice as fast. _Was this really happening? Is this just a dream? Oh God Sherlock is close. _But she closed her eyes and shut out her mind's thoughts.

And that was when Sherlock's phone rang. They both stopped and laid back on the bed, barely even looking at each other. "Hello?" Sherlock said as he answered his ringing mobile. She looked over at him, his eyes widened as the person on the other line spoke. "Where?" He asked.

"What's happened?" Molly inquired.

"I'll be there." And he stood up from the bed and looked over at Molly, "I'm sorry, I've got to go to the mortuary. Body has been discovered in the Thames. Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Would you like me to come into work?"

"No, no, you're recovering."

"But I feel fine."

"Well, if you'd like to."

"I'd love to."

A hot steaming cup of coffee was placed in front of him. His eyes moved from the microscope to the mug then to the woman holding another cup and two sugar packets in her teeth, and despite them she smiled at him. He grabbed the sugar from her and poured them into his coffee, stirring slowly he asked, "Cause of death?"

"You looked at the body for five minutes, Sherlock. You know exactly what the cause of death is."

"I want your thoughts." He said finally looking back up at her.

"Um, okay, okay. She has no water in her lungs, so she didn't drown. And she clearly died from asphyxiation, and there are bruises on her neck that - wha- what are you doing?"

"Continue." He said as he moved a step closer towards her.

"Tha- that um, would be present during a-uh-a strangulation."

"Very good. So?" He said pushing a lonely strand of hair that had fallen out of her bun behind her ear. His fingers lingering gently on the side of her neck.

"Murder is a probability?"

"Molly, there is something I never got to give you."

"Wha-what is it?"

His fingertips moved from her neck to her chin and lifted her head towards him. He looked into her eyes a moment before leaning down and kissing her. His free hand found it's way to the small of her back and he used it to pull her closer than she already was. Molly was shocked at first but then returned the kiss, holding on to the lapels of his coat. It was surprisingly passionate, Molly had only assumed he hadn't spent a lot of time with women. But she was blissful, no matter how many times she went over this moment in her mind, the same feeling of complete and total happiness overwhelmed her. Her hands ventured to his hair and his moved to her waist. He pulled away, still holding her and gave her a half smile. She was blushing but beaming up at him.

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade and John Watson walked in at that moment. They broke a part immediately, his hand though, continued to rest on the small of her back. John stared at Sherlock intensively, questioning him with his eyes. Sherlock looked back with his cold eyes and said, "Murder. She was strangled and then thrown into the Thames. I have a full profile on the murder suspect on the table, in a rough draft. Have you any questions Lestrade, do feel free to give me a call. John, I'll be walking Miss. Hooper home. I'll see you in the morning."

He guided her out of the room and as soon as the doors shut behind them John and Lestrade exchanged a look of confusion. "Are they?" Lestrade asked.

"How are we supposed to know? It's Sherlock." John replied. They stayed and talked for a bit before returning home and going to sleep. Some point in the night a letter, exactly the same as the others addressed to a Mr. Sherlock Holmes arrived on the doorstep of 221B Baker Street


	15. A Heart Stops Beating

_Monday just like I promised. I'm going back to school tomorrow so I'll be updating less often I would imagine. I'd love for you to stay with me! The next chapter should be up before the weekend is over. -E_

* * *

Sherlock Holmes woke up to find an asleep Molly Hooper curled up in his arms. He smiled gently to himself when he noticed the small curl of her lips as she dreamt. He gently moved her off to the side and crept out of the room. He was nearly out of the door when something stopped him. He knew what John would tell him, that he shouldn't just walk out or something along the lines of that. So he took John's mental nagging to action and left a note on her kitchen table.

"Had to go back to my flat. Hope you're feeling better. -S"

* * *

John Watson smiled up at Sherlock as he stalked into the apartment. "So?" He asked.

"So what?"

"Anything happen, you know, between you two?"

"What do you mean?"

"Anything out of the ordinary for you?"

"John, really just tell me what you mean."

"You can't sugarcoat things with you. I mean you two have seemed pretty cosy recently."

"She's a friend, John. Let's leave it at that."

"Okay, whatever you say. This came for you by the way." John said handing him a letter. "Exactly the - "

"Same as the others." Sherlock finished. He ripped open the top and pulled out the printed letter. His eyes widened and he felt something new he had only assumed had been his heart dropping a bit.

_Your friend is pretty. If you'd like her to stay that way Sherlock, I'd suggest you leave her alone. People close to you are going to get hurt. But it'll be alright because it's not like you're going to be heartbroken. I'm sure you've been told you don't have a heart to break. You live for the work, for the mysteries to solve. You don't live for love and don't love to live. You're a machine, Sherlock Holmes, with brains and bolts and screws. But machines don't have feelings and machines sure don't have hearts. _

Sherlock snapped back to reality. Of course it wasn't his heart dropping that he'd felt. How could he have been so stupid to believe so, there was no heart to drop.


	16. Obedience

_Sorry this took so long to get up. School started and it's been pretty chaotic. I'm going to shoot for the weekend for the next chapter. Enjoooy -E_

* * *

Miss. Molly Hooper woke up find the opposite side of her bed was no longer occupied. The euphoria she had been recently so high on disappeared in a second. As usual, he was only doing exactly what he told her: staying the night to make sure she was going to be okay. But what about the kiss, she had no idea what to make of that. Pity and sympathy was the first thing that came to mind, but she's known Sherlock for years. And pity was not a normal emotion to be felt for Sherlock. She went to make herself something to eat when the smile returned to her lips. He hadn't just left. She held the piece of paper to her chest for a minute before getting ready to go into work. Looking into the mirror she parted her hair the way she knew he liked and put on her lipstick before leaving with a new spring in her step.

"What does it say?" John Watson asked his companion.

"Nothing of importance, just an empty threat." Sherlock replied quickly and coldly.

"Sherlock, this case is of _national_ importance anything from her happens _to be_ _important._"

"Give it to me."

"No."

"Give it." John said as he snatched it violently out of Sherlock's hands. "You, you aren't really taking this to heart are you?"

"Of course not."

"Good. Because it's-"

"I don't have a heart to take it to."

"Sherlock, this is what she wants."

"She wants me to leave my friends alone, so I will."

"Tell Molly."

"Why?"

"Because Sherlock. I haven't known you long but never have I seen you care or take that much interest of anything other than a corpse."

He didn't reply but he got up and wrapped himself up in his coat and went to leave.

"For God's sake where are you going?"

"The mortuary."

"To talk to Molly?"

"No, to work."

* * *

Sherlock Holmes arrived in the mortuary of St. Bartholomew's to find Molly of a particularly cheery disposition. She smiled and blushed all at the same time at him as he stalked by. He merely glanced in her direction, not once breaking his cold demeanour. As much as he wanted to sweep her up in his arms and rest his chin on her head and catch the sweet smell of her perfume. As much as he would've loved to have kissed her again and held her again and laughed with her again he only walked on into the laboratory. His text alert noise rang as he sat down in front of his work.

_Very good. What'd I tell you?_

Sherlock's mind numbed.

John stared at the note.

And a spring in Molly's step was lost.


	17. Father

_The weekend just like I promised! Please leave reviews, I live off them and I love reading them! -E_

* * *

_"Do you understand what you've done?! You daft girl!" A voice boomed out into the darkness._

_"I'm sorry." A girl muttered. "It was stupid of me."_

_"You could've been caught."_

_"I'm sorry Father."_

_"Your apologies mean nothing to me." He spat out at her in disgust._

_"Father please." She pleaded, tears beginning to fall again._

_"Just because you're my daughter don't believe I'm not above obliterating any evidence of your existence." _

_"But I onl-"_

_"SHUT UP!" He screamed. "Now I've got a job to do! Do not leave the house or I'll skin you."_

_A door slammed. And the sound of a girls sobs rang out in the darkness. _


	18. The Meaning Behind a Flower

_Yay! Two chapters this weekend. I'm going to try to keep updating on a weekly basis. So stay tuned! Thanks for the reviews! Be sure to leave them because I love, love reading them. -E_

* * *

Molly Hooper closed her door behind her before breaking down. That's what it's always been like. Keep up a smile at school, at work, with friends, with family. Then come home, close the door and break down. Everyone acted differently behind closed doors. _How could I have been so stupid!? Thinking Sherlock cared for me. Thinking anyone cared for me._ She picked up the DVD case for Mary Poppins still sitting on her coffee table and threw it across the room until it collided with the wall. She sat down her couch, pulled her knees to her chest and cried. Just like old times.

* * *

Mr. Sherlock Holmes sat in a trance in 221B. John asked him what was wrong as he walked past. "Nothing." He responded, although he struggled to get out the words.

"Sherlock?" John asked with more concern in his voice then before.

"I can't do this. Will you help me?"

"Help you with what?"

"I need to apologize."

"I'm sorry what? Apologize? The great Sherlock Holmes? The man who is never wrong?"

"I – I care about her. I shouldn't but my mind rebels against me. And I can't do this to her. How do I make her forgive me? What do I do?"

"Sherlock, this is wonderful!"

"How would you describe this as wonderful?"

"You're succumbing to normal human emotions and reactions!"

"John."

"Sorry, just go to her and apologize."

* * *

Molly Hooper had run out of tears to shed. She wanted to cry but no more tears could come. Every time she fancied someone they hurt her. Every single time. She just sat there in her numbness.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was stalking off to a familiar flat close to Bart's when he passed by a particular shop. He stared into the window before pulling out his phone and sending a text to his roommate. "May you ask Molly something for me? SH"

* * *

Molly Hooper stared at a strange text she had just received. "What's your favourite flower? JW" She thought about it for a minute before responding, "Red carnations. Molly"

* * *

The great consulting detective made his purchase and left the flower shop before continuing on his way. He stood outside her door for a very long time. Rehearsing what he was going to say in his head. "Molly I am so, so sorry."

* * *

The young pathologist looked at her phone and considered calling up the man who was causing her so much grief. Thinking over what she'd say, "Sherlock can we talk?"

"And I hope you'll forgive me…"

"… I just wanted to know what that kiss meant?"

"It's tearing me apart…"

"… Because you've been acting rea-" Molly glanced over at the door. Three sharp knocks against the wood. She walked over to the door and reached for the handle. Revealing a Sherlock bearing a bundle of flowers in his hands.

"You've been crying." He noticed instantly.

"No, I haven't."

"Molly, don't lie. You know me, you know I'm right." Noticing his tone he quickly changed it. "Here, I got these for you."

"Red carnations, that's why John asked." She laughed until she remembered she was upset with the man at her door. "What are the other flowers?"

"Purple hyacinth."

"They're beautiful."

"Like you." She quickly looked up at him shocked. "Do you know what purple hyacinths meant in Victorian times?"

"No-no I, uh, I don't." She said still blushing from his compliment.

"It symbolized great sorrow and regret. They were used to ask for forgiveness." Sherlock reached out and wiped away some of the drying tears from her cheeks with his thumb. He held her face in his hand, "Please forgive me Molly.' And he leaned down towards her but she stepped back.

"Why? Why did you do it?" She said barely over a whisper.

"She told me to – to leave you alone. Otherwise you'd be hurt." He handed her the letter he received before. She took it and read it over twice.

"So, you're not worried about me getting hurt?"

"Molly Hooper, you were getting hurt from me protecting you by ignoring you. And I couldn't deal with that. This way I can be with you and protect you from her. She will not lay a finger on you. Miss. Hooper, I give you my word."


	19. To 221B

_First things first, I need to apologize for not updating in centuries. I lost a lot of inspiration for this story and I was really busy with school. However, thanks to sherlollians dot tumblr dot com who put me on their favourite Sherlolly fanfic list, to the countless people who followed the story afterwards, and particularly to AloneProtectsMe for their very concerned PM making sure I was okay I finally dug up the inspiration to come back. I had a lot of loose ends to tie up as far as plot goes and now have a very complicated chart of events in a notebook. Thank you for all the reviews and kind words because it's you who all brought me back. If I ever stop updating like that again you all have full permission to send me angry PM's okay? Okay. _

_There are so many reviewers to thank as well but I've rambled on for a while. So if you've reviewed, have yourself a kitten from me. _

_Again, apologies for disappearing I hope I can make it up to you eventually. -E_

* * *

Molly Hooper was given half an hour to pack her things and come with Sherlock back to 221B in the dead of night. She was scared. She had dug herself too deep into this and it was going to be much too hard to climb her way out now.

"For God's sake, how much do you possibly need?" Sherlock exclaimed clearly agitated.

"I don't know how long I'll be there." A small voice belonging to Molly replied from the bathroom.

Finally she emerged with a bag that looked about the same size as the mousy pathologist carrying. "Okay I'm ready." She said with a faint smile.

"This is going to be complicated so I need you to be listening carefully." Sherlock looked at her for a sign of acknowledgement before continuing rapidly. "One can assume that Moriarty or his daughter are going to be watching this building. I appeared first and I will leave first. I will take a cab back to 221B. Now you, you are much more difficult because it's you they're after. Your cab will pull up exactly 15 minutes after I leave. Be ready. You are to get in that cab and tell him you'd like to do some shopping, nothing else, and nothing more. That cabbie will then take you to the nearest shopping mall and it will take an extremely complicated route. As you are in the cab change clothes, put on a hat and disguise yourself. Assuming Moriarty or Marissa's men are still on to you it will come to a very brief stop beside a black sedan, you are to transfer cars as quickly and discreetly as possible and without notice. This car will take you 221B. Is that clear?"

Molly looked up at him blankly. "I'm supposed to remember all of that?"

"It's simple, you'll do fine." Sherlock assured her as he walked towards the door.

"Wait!" Molly piped up, stopping the detective dead in his tracks. "Wha-what do I do if they catch me?"

Sherlock noticed the slight tremble in her hands and her quickened breath. She was scared. _I've done too much comforting _Sherlock thought remembering the events of the past few days. Hesitant on his actions, Sherlock walked forward and placed a quick and gentle kiss on her forehead.

"They won't catch you. Remember 15 minutes." He said before walking out of the door.

Molly checked the oven clock, 6:04. She paced nervously before she came upon Toby meowing at his empty dish. "And what am I supposed to do with you?" She couldn't bear the thought of leaving him here alone but she couldn't figure out how to bring him with her. She'd have to ask someone to bring him later. So Molly filled up his dishes with extra food and water. "Don't eat this all tonight, okay?" She told him scratching behind his ears.

She checked the clock again, 6:10. Molly tried to sit down she wiped her palms on her jeans and tried to calm herself down a bit. It took Sherlock an amazing 10 minutes of quick texts and one brief phone call to Mycroft to plan her transferal to 221B. And she had to not botch it up or else her life would be on the line. How could Sherlock have been so sure that she wouldn't screw up?

6:15. She had four minutes left before her cab came. Molly did a sweep of the flat to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything. 6:17. Two more minutes. Now she waited downstairs by the door.

6:18. What if it doesn't show up?

6:19. A cab pulls up. Molly goes to it as calmly as possible and closes the door as she sits down in it. "I'd like to do some shopping." Molly told the cabbie in a polite manner. A brief "Okay, miss" came from the front. She rummaged through her bag and pulled out a different set of clothes just as she had been told. After she had changed she ran through the plan another three times in her head.

Phase one had gone by without a hitch.

* * *

_A/N: I was worried that it's been too long and I wouldn't capture them in the same way as I did before. I re-read the previous chapters ten times before coming back. Again, if you can review that'd be lovely. They're what brought me back. Love you all and thanks for sticking with it. _


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